Contemplating being alive

Squalicum Harbor yesterday

Yesterday, Saturday, my friend Melanie and I walked for around five miles at the marina in Bellingham Bay, under sunny and delightful skies. It wasn't very hot, since the sun at this time of the year is quickly moving towards the fall equinox. It's the very last days of summer, with just a week before the Labor Day weekend, the unofficial end of the summer. The actual equinox will be on September 22, three weeks from this coming Wednesday. Right around the corner.

This is my favorite time of the year, when the days are crystal clear but not hot, and the trees begin to turn colors, while flowers are still abundant everywhere I look. I am so fortunate to still be able to walk that distance, at my age. I know so many other people who cannot because of injuries or other infirmities. But I am still alive and enjoying every single day as much as possible. I know it won't last. Nothing does, really: not youth, not health, or even the season of life.

When I look at how much has changed in the world during my lifetime, which is considerable but not all that long in the grand scheme of things, it's pretty amazing. When I was born in 1942, the entire world population was 2.3 billion, while today we are approaching 8 billion. That statistic alone tells the tale of how much our world has changed. You cannot add that many people into the world without profound deleterious effects. We are changing the climate in terrifying ways, along with many billions of children born into a world that cannot feed them. And I could go on and on with the bleak outlook that comes along with the population explosion, but I won't. That's not what I want to focus on, but instead I want to think about how much the last eight decades of life have given me.

There are many significant people still alive who were also born in that year: President Biden, Michael Bloomberg, Barbra Streisand, Harrison Ford, to name a few. And there are many other famous people who have died: Stephen Hawking, Jimi Hendrix, and Jerry Garcia, among many others. I remember when each one died, and I don't remember thinking that their deaths were premature, other than Jimi Hendrix, who died in 1970 at the age of 27. I wonder what he would say about the world today. He accomplished so much in his short life and is still well known more than a half century after his death.

I learned to read at an early age, and I know that being able to make sense of my world was much increased by having that skill. These days, graduating from high school is no assurance that you will have learned to read. I suppose you could function quite well by just being able to watch TV. I well remember when we got our first one (I was a pre-teen), a black-and-white console that took up lots of space in the living room. It was our connection to the outside world, even though the snowy images of newscasters was very different from the images we see today. Are we better off for having such incredible connectivity? I wonder. Now I immediately am aware of everything of note that is happening throughout the entire world, and it's enough to dismay even the most positive of outlooks. 

Even though there are so many people, we are still making progress on extending the lifespan of those of us who are alive today. Now you can get new knees, hips, and shoulders, even if you don't realize how much will be required to regain your mobility, and it's just not the same. I haven't needed any of that, and I don't think at my age that I would submit to it. After all, now that I have lived a full life, I have to consider the quality of those years I have left. Fortunately I can still get out and walk and enjoy the forests and trails that surround me. If I couldn't get out and about any longer, I think I would find some way to enjoy the outdoors differently. One of my blogging friends was active and spent plenty of time outdoors, and then he had a procedure that ended up paralyzing him and putting him into a wheelchair. He has found a way to continue to enjoy life, and I appreciate reading about his life today and find it inspiring.

 When I was 57, I needed to have my knee repaired after having torn the anterior cruciate ligament (ACL). I remember going to a couple of doctors who suggested that I should just learn to live with it, at my advanced age. It took several visits to surgeons before I found one that would work on me. I was reminded of how difficult the rehab would be and asked if I felt I was up to it. And I got the work done and learned just what they were talking about. It was not easy, but it was worth it. 

Today I have a good friend who is getting his second shoulder rebuilt, an even more difficult procedure, and he is 81! How times have changed. He has already gotten new knees and does pretty well with them, even going dancing now and then, and now his shoulders are being replaced, one at a time. I have considered what I would have done if I were in his shoes, and I'm not sure I would want to endure it. But it's not my choice to make. Everybody needs to do what feels right for them. 

It would be different if I were in constant pain, I suspect. Not that I don't have twinges of pain and discomfort from my joints, but I can still carry on with the help of exercises and, especially, yoga. I do think that practice has helped me stay flexible and able to continue to enjoy the outdoors to the maximum. When that changes, I will reconsider. But I am determined to enjoy the time left to me, and I will continue what has become sacred to me, my Sunday morning meditation here, and my ability to connect to my dear virtual friends. 

But as in all things, it is time to bring this post to an end, so I can get out of bed and get on with the rest of my day. It's taken longer than usual to get here, and I feel the pull of the day helping me to bring it to a close. You might notice I have given little bandwidth to the news of the day. That is on purpose; I need a break from it, as I'm sure you do, too.

My dear partner still sleeps quietly, my tea is gone, and I am ready to start the rest of my day. Until we meet again next week, dear friends, I wish you all good things.